It all starts at the close
by scriptmanip
Summary: A recreation of Gen 2's final year of sixth form.
1. Episode 1: Emily, part one

**Author's Note:** I swore I wasn't going to do this. But, as it turns out, I have garnered a small yet very persuasive handful of enablers some might call 'friends' who rather stealthily convinced me this was a good idea.

And basically, once the idea of rewriting series four cropped up in my head, I couldn't shake it. Which further proves that I am a fullblown Skins addict, and probably explains why I keep enablers as mates.

So cheers to **blondie**, **6seats**, and my dear mate **naomilylove** [happy belated birthday! may hobnobs and champers rain down on you!], here is my revised version of Gen 2's final year at Roundview.

Forget everything you know, kids. We are starting with a blank slate.

* * *

Emily Fitch is no shrinking violet. Not any longer. Not that she ever was, really. It's just always been easier, allowing Katie to take centre stage since she's been the one gifted with a flare for dramatics. While Emily, a bit more reserved, a bit more prone to calm, logical thinking, is happy to sit back and let her sister rage loudly enough for them both.

Or, well, that is until now.

It's not that Emily's come unhinged or anything. Course not. She's still the same girl she's always been. That being said, she is changing. Because somewhere between self-discovery and falling helplessly in love, Emily Fitch learned that being the 'quiet twin' wasn't doing her any favours.

And so her hair keeps getting brighter.

And her stance keeps getting taller.

And her voice keeps getting louder.

She went through hell, and she got the girl. Finally. She beat the piss out of her sister just to get some room to breathe. And she's braved the bigotry of her mum in order to be her true, authentic self.

She's ready for anything, Emily is. She's got confidence in spades.

Still, some brilliant, fucking start to the new term she's having, and she's not even stepped foot inside the college corridors. A splendid time that should be, though – opening assembly at blessed Roundview – when all hell's basically broken loose just three days prior.

Emily can almost hear it now – Doug's cautionary blathering about responsibility and the aftermath of poor decisions that can't be undone.

It's all completely warranted, of course. All the excitement, all the concern, even the media frenzy surrounding such an untimely tragedy. Well, Emily then corrects, considering the events of her morning, _most_ of it is warranted, at least.

Thomas had been well shaken on Friday night, much as everyone had been, though Emily suspects it'll haunt him the longest. Because it's not part of the job description, is it? Pulling girls from the loo, who've fatally overdosed, finding them face down in their own sick.

* * *

_One night previous_

Naomi's the one who tells Emily about Thomas' unfortunate discovery. She's just come from the toilets, after what was probably one too many shots of tequila, considering the way Emily, wearing an adoring smile, watches her make her way there on unsteady limbs. Naomi is sloppily drying her hands on the back of her denim, heading back to the spot where she'd left Emily waiting, when Thomas and another bloke from the club come barrelling through the dingy corridor.

She tells Emily this after the club's been vacated by security. When sirens can be heard blaring from some streets away, and everyone's all stood waiting for taxis or the city bus, a moderate chill to the air that hints at an upcoming season while summer slips away.

Cook's smoking silently, seemingly unfazed, but his arm hangs protectively around Pandora, who's crying noisily. Emily watches them, first thinking that it makes sense, Panda's reaction, since publicly displaying her emotions sort of seems like her thing. But she then thinks of Effy, fleetingly, and wonders if Panda is as well.

Arms reach out for her, and all that Emily can see then is Naomi.

"I didn't see her – I didn't even _see_ her. _Fuck_, do you think I should've spotted her? I could've told someone, maybe." Naomi asks this desperately, arms wrapped around Emily's shoulders while she hugs her closely and presses her face into Emily's neck.

"No," Emily soothes, rubbing her hands up and down along Naomi's back. "No, you couldn't have known, Naoms."

Katie insists that Emily come home _'for fucking once,'_ and she looks sort of helpless in that moment, standing beside Emily with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, within the small group but still somehow looking totally alone.

And so Emily caves, leaves Naomi to grab a taxi with Cook and Pandora, while she and Katie step into the offensive UV lighting of the bus.

* * *

_Presently_

"It'll pass," Katie tells Emily the following day, sat on her bed with her legs stretched long and crossed at her ankles.

And Emily has to forcefully blink while staring at her sister's passive face and quiet eyes, to recognise her even a little.

Broken curfews pass, as both girls can attest.

Poor marks in Politics pass, as Katie knows quite well.

Drunken stumbles through the front door, only to find their mum's been waiting for Emily to turn up, pass [or so she hopes].

But this – this isn't fucking likely to pass. And Emily's got half a mind to lash out at Katie, still irritatingly reserved as she's sat there filing her nails, for her obvious naivety.

It'd all gone down so quickly this morning, Emily hardly had time to argue. To plead her case, or her innocence. Not that she's got one, good leg to stand on, really. Because the pair of them – their mum and dad's beloved, saintly twins – have been dabbling in all sorts of reckless, teenaged behaviour without consequence.

They've been running from gangsters, and smoking spliff, and breaking curfews, and sneaking into pubs. And they've been shagging girls by campfires and boys in their bedrooms. They've been to house parties that got _severely_ out-of-hand, and they've swallowed MDMA like harmless sweets.

In all truth, Emily and Katie have been running wild for far too long, and it was only a matter of time, really, before something of this sort came down the gauntlet.

But, even in all that time, Emily had never anticipated her parents taking it this far, though she likely should have.

The punishment, though Jenna and Rob have yet to admit it as such, feels like a steel trap, Emily's leg trapped between its jaw so that the metal is bearing down on her flesh and bone, keeping her in place. Katie too, for that matter, though Emily can't see much beyond her own nose at this point, feeling terribly singled out.

The girls' mother, naturally, had been ruthless as ever. It's what she's always wanted anyway: to keep Katie and Emily immobilised, within her sights and safely under her protective wings.

Emily cringes, still hearing the tone in her mum's voice – sharp as a blade and deadly serious.

_'This is not up for discussion. We're putting these restrictions in place for your own safety.'_

Even Rob, who's generally good-natured, and as easy to push over as a small child learning to walk, is standing firm on this new reign of terror.

_'You heard your mum – we expect to know where you've gone at all times, and you'll not be leaving this house at all if you can't stick to the rules, girls.'_

_'That's right,' _Jenna had echoed._ 'You'll go to college, and you'll come straight home. And, that's that. It's just – it's not safe.'_

Really, it's all very unlikely that Emily would have been able to talk her way out of it entirely, but she'd have at least tried, if only she were quicker on her feet. She'd certainly have said more than she did. Which, in the end, was nothing.

Emily's stood now in the girls' shared bedroom when Katie says this to her, that _'it'll pass,'_ with a bored passivity. And they're not locked in there behind a deadbolt or anything, though Emily feels she may as well be for how trapped she suddenly feels.

"I'm not going to be kept under house arrest for the entire term just because some fucking bint takes a bad pill and—"

"She's dead, Emily," Katie says. "Someone actually _died_."

Katie looks up then, her left hand poised with a pink emery board just above her lap, and she eyes Emily with something like concern.

It's not as if the subject's not gravely serious, or that Emily's somehow become calloused to this sort of tragedy. Her stomach even drops just to hear Katie say the word. Maybe this girl wasn't Emily's best mate. Maybe she doesn't even know her name. But, it's still awful. It's absolutely horrible, it is.

It's just – it's not Emily's fucking fault. And she doesn't see why she's being punished for someone else's mistake.

The injustice of it boils Emily's blood. And so, even though it's not Katie she wishes to fight on this, Emily does. Because it's what she and Katie have always done so well.

"You're seriously alright with mum and dad keeping us at home _every day_, at all hours, when we're not at college?" Emily challenges, folding her arms high over her stomach.

Katie resumes filing her nails. "Don't be stupid, Emily."

It hits a raw nerve, her quick dismissal of Emily's emotional distress. And Emily bites back, like reflex.

"Look, just because your social life isn't what it once—"

"Okay seriously? You can fuck right off," Katie says, annoyed yet still engaging with hardly any effort, chucking her nail file onto the floor and standing up. "Not so long ago, I had to practically _drag_ your arse out of the house. So don't pretend you'd be half as bothered by any of this if your fanny weren't, like, surgically attached to Naomi's."

"Of course this has to do with not seeing Naomi – she's my fucking girlfriend!" Emily shouts, flinging her arms into the air as if to make a point. "And I'm supposed to what – chat with her between classes? Send her fucking emails from the confines of our room or something?"

"Yeah, Ems," Katie smiles with an amused eye roll. "I'm sure that's why you're so fussed – all those missed opportunities to _chat_ with Naomi."

"No," Emily then says, an air of newfound assurance now saturating her tone. "You're right. I'm actually more concerned with _fucking_ my girlfriend whenever I please, if we're being honest."

Katie's look of disgust doesn't lessen Emily's confident smirk an ounce. Even as she gags out a barely heard, _'Gross,'_ Emily finds she's rather pleased with herself.

"Anyway, it's not the point. We're not fucking delinquents, Katie, and we didn't do anything wrong."

"Besides being out past curfew, underage, at a club, and completely off our faces," Katie adds drolly.

She's being infuriatingly level-headed, which means this isn't going to be the fight for which Emily had hoped. Still, shouting at Katie is making Emily feel marginally better than sulking quietly.

"Nothing we did contributed to what happened, Katie. We could have been sat here, playing fucking Monopoly, safe at home, and that girl still would have—"

Katie stares at Emily pointedly, almost daring her to make another off-hand remark.

And so Emily exhales, trying ineffectively to calm her racing thoughts. "What happened to her has nothing to do with us, is all I'm saying. And, we shouldn't be kept from our friends because of it."

Katie scoffs. "Please, those losers are hardly our friends, Emily."

"They're _my_ friends!"

"What's the matter?" And Katie's eyes do something derisive then, glinting cruelly as Emily's not seen them in quite some time. "Afraid if Naomi's left on her own, she'll end up finding some more experienced twat-licker to replace you?"

"What – _no_." Emily groans in frustration, pushing past her until she's reached the bedroom door. "Way to miss the fucking point, Katie."

"Look," Katie sighs, "Mum and Dad are totally overreacting, _obviously_. I mean, I'm pretty sure Dad still sees us as eight-year-olds. But, I honestly don't see how you're so surprised."

"I don't see how you're so _calm!_"

Katie shrugs, reaching for her hairbrush. "I'm telling you, it'll fucking pass. And, I'm not going to get wound up over some stupid rules that won't even last. We'll stay on good behaviour, or whatever, they'll ease up a bit, and then you can go back to keeping your head up Naomi's arse."

Emily tosses her a scowl as Katie begins brushing out her hair, long and dark and _finally_ not at all like Emily's, before leaving the room and slamming the door.

* * *

Emily rings Naomi as soon as she's in the back garden and bites at her thumbnail while waiting for Naomi to answer.

"Bullshit," she mutters, partly to Naomi, whose phone has just gone to voicemail _again_; and partly, to her parents, who have basically just ruined her entire life.

Emily would _kill_ for a cigarette, she thinks, but her partial pack is in the pocket of Naomi's cardigan, which she's left upstairs with her cunting sister. And, anyway, her mum coming home to find Emily smoking is probably counterintuitive to being allowed out of the house ever again.

So, sitting and fuming appears to be Emily's only option.

How she's sat here, practically shackled to the house, doesn't even seem possible. Emily clenches her eyes and rips at the grass beneath her feet, pulling it up by its roots until the tips of her fingers are stained with dirt. It all feels like a nightmare from which she can't wake up, when so much of Emily's summer has been more like some blissful, Naomi-filled fantasy.

Emily's skin almost aches with a need to feel her touch, to feel Naomi's light laughter against her neck.

"Fucking pathetic," she then mumbles into her lap. Because Emily left Naomi not more than twelve hours ago, and even _she_ has to recognise how ridiculously co-dependent she sounds.

But actually, it doesn't matter that Emily's essentially spent every hour of the summer holiday with Naomi. Because, in so many ways, it still feels like she's just managed to get Naomi all to herself, _finally_; and it doesn't seem fair that, in so many ways, Naomi's already being taken away.

James makes his way into the garden, announcing himself by attempting to read Emily's text messages from over her shoulder.

"Fuck off, _loser_." From where Emily is sat, she shoves at James' legs – bare and covered in red, raised mosquito bites – until he stumbles into the grass in front of her. "When does mum get home from her shift?"

"I'll only tell you if you can tell me what Naomi's fanny smells like," he taunts, narrowly dodging Emily's fist as she swings for his right arm.

"You're fucking _mental_, you know that, right?"

"The testosterone production in males increases by _ten times_ the norm during adolescence. Reckon that'd make _you_ fucking mental too," James says, his eyes crazed and his mouth agape while he scratches at his left knee.

"Just tell me when mum'll be home, James."

"Why? Are you going to Naomi's? Are you going to fuck her?"

"_James!_"

Once Emily's sprung to her feet, now towering over him, James stumbles backwards to increase the distance between his big sister and him, like a learned defence.

"Okay, okay. She's always home by seven," he finally relents.

Emily checks the time on her mobile – taking note that Naomi's yet to ring her back, or respond to any of her texts – before quickly turning to head back inside. When Emily's slammed the glass door behind her, she then twists the lock into place just as James reaches for the door handle. He bangs his pathetic, little fist onto the glass and Emily smiles cruelly, as only an older sister might, and flips him off.

* * *

The moped chokes to a start as Emily adjusts the helmet strap below her chin, and seconds later, Katie is bursting through the door to the garage.

"Emily, _no_. Fucking – turn that piece of shit off," she demands, shouting over the low rumble of the engine that's been amplified by the walls of the enclosure.

"I'll be back before mum gets home, and dad's off at the gym until close," Emily shouts back.

"You're going to make things worse, you selfish bitch."

It's the fight Emily had been looking for not twenty minutes earlier, but it's too late now. She's made up her mind, and these days, Katie's shouting isn't nearly as effective in getting Emily to fall in line. It's also what would have been the start of an actual fight, fists and claws and biting words, before their lives essentially went up in flames last year.

Now, it's an exit line. It's how Katie operates in her new skin, and Emily's really yet to adjust to her sister's new temperament. So, a part of her still gears up to fight back, readying to engage, when Katie merely spins on her heel and heads back inside.

Even now, after months of adjusting to this new dynamic, there's something that doesn't feel quite right about it.

But it takes less time to interact with her, more often than not, and currently, time isn't exactly on Emily's side. And so, at least for now, she counts herself lucky for this new Katie she's yet to fully understand.

* * *

Gina's coming down the walk as Emily pulls up to the kerb, her hands full of reusable bags and disorganised stacks of brightly-coloured papers.

_Always off to save the world_, Emily thinks with a bit of a smirk, cutting the engine as she approaches.

"Emily, love – is Naomi meeting you here?" she smiles brightly. "I'm just off to the community centre."

"Hi, Gina," Emily greets her, removing her helmet and resting it on her thigh. "I'm not – I mean, is Naomi not here?"

"Oh bollocks, I've put my foot in it, haven't I?"

"No," Emily laughs, even as Gina lays her palm flat against her forehead. "We didn't have plans or anything. She's just, well, she's not answering her phone, and I need to talk with her. Did she say where she was off to?"

"Oh, I've not been privy to that information in years, dear, you know that."

"Right," Emily answers, sharing Gina's smile.

Her eyes twinkle as her hand reaches out to cup Emily's elbow. "Why don't you wait for her inside? I've left some wine unattended in the fridge."

"It's alright. I've got to get home, actually. Thanks anyway, Gina."

"Alright, well, I'm off, love. Come by for supper this week, and I'll make you some vegetarian lasagne."

Gina's warm hand touches lightly to Emily's cheek, and Emily nearly starts to cry at the thought of all the things being taken away from her that she'd not even considered. Like home-cooked meals and shared conversation with Gina at her and Naomi's quaint, kitchen table. Like documentary film night when Naomi and her mum can't help themselves from arguing passionately, shouting at the telly about famine or genocide or sweat shops, even though they're _always_ on the same side.

These things, and so much more, gone now all because of Emily's stupid, selfish mum and her need to control every, sodding facet of Emily's life. She's ignorantly robbing Emily of so much, including time spent with Gina and her lovely, vegetarian lasagne.

Emily blinks instead, swallowing back her fragile emotions, and hopes that Naomi's mum is too rushed to notice the glisten in her eyes.

"That sounds nice," Emily manages to reply, and Gina just smiles before checking the time on her wristwatch.

"Bugger, I'm running awfully late—"

"Don't let me keep you. I'll see you later," Emily tells her.

"If you manage to track down my forever wandering offspring, do remind her I'll not be home for dinner, so she's on her own."

"Sure. I will. Bye, Gina."

A few steps down the pavement, Gina spins again, facing Emily with a thoughtful expression. "Might give that nuisance Cook a ring. He turned up earlier today before my daughter disappeared."

Emily cringes quickly before righting her smile. "Right. Thanks again."

_Fucking Cook. Figures._

With the engine rumbling yet again, Emily teeters her moped on its precarious incline until she's turned it about in the direction of Fishpond's.

* * *

**post script:** So, who's on board?


	2. Episode 1: Emily, part two

**Author's note:** I had meant to split this episode into equal halves, but ... I'm really bad at maths.

* * *

Emily can actually _hear_ Cook from the pavement just outside, but it's Naomi she sees through the front windows. Laughing, finishing a pint, lounging at a table with two girls Emily's never before seen.

They're all laughing at Cook, whom Emily can see upon entering, stood on a chair and gesturing wildly while telling some story Emily's almost certain is at least half untrue. He pauses at the sound of the door, which creaks open as Emily walks into the pub, and a stench of stale cigarettes and lager hits her nostrils, turning her stomach more than usual.

There's something else churning at the pit of her stomach, foreign and unpleasant, though Emily can't exactly recognise it before Cook's loud voice fills the pub.

"Emilio!" he bellows, raising both fists far above his head as he leaps onto the floor.

Naomi's head snaps in that direction then too, towards Emily, and she watches her girlfriend's confused expression for only a moment before Cook's snatched Emily up in an unwelcomed bear hug.

"Shots on me, girlie – saddle up," he commands, a rough hand at Emily's shoulder as he leads her towards the table.

"I'll pass, thanks," Emily tells him, delicately lifting his hand from her shoulder like it might carry diseases.

"Hey," Naomi grins, her face lighting up as her hand reaches out to take Emily's. "You're here! How the fuck did you know where to find us?" she asks, pulling Emily towards her until she's leant down, so that Naomi can place three, quick kisses to her mouth, almost all of them landing off-centre.

_Right then. Likely drunk, _Emily thinks.

She pulls back, licking the taste of cider off her lips, to see Naomi's happy, glazed eyes looking back at her. And it's hard, even through Emily's frustrations and thinning patience, not to smile at her.

"You're terribly predictable," Emily drones through a sigh.

Naomi grins stupidly, pulling again at their linked hands from where she's sat, so that her lips can reach Emily's, and she then keeps at it in a bit more earnest, even after Cook's started howling obnoxiously, and the two girls – whoever the fuck they are – begin sniggering at the display.

_Alright, so _definitely_ drunk then, _Emily concludes.

It's what snaps her out of enjoying the feel of Naomi's teeth grabbing at her bottom lip – the fact she's been on the lash with Cook – and Emily pulls back again, somewhat less-amused than before. Because while she's been stuck at home, being subjected to some kind of new, communist regime of parenting and desperately needing to talk to her girlfriend, Naomi's been here. Getting pissed.

"What?" Naomi says, almost dazed, her eyes still focused on Emily's mouth, even as it's downturned and clearly displeased.

"Aw, come on, Emily – things were just starting to perk up around here, if you know what I mean."

"Fuck off, Cook." And even from her peripheral, Emily can see the way he's begun thrusting his pelvis towards the table.

When Cooks stops, looking more like a wounded puppy, one of the girls starts to laugh. Emily turns on her with a scowl that'd probably best be thrown at Cook, though it lands on the blonde with her tits on display instead, and the girl just as quickly looks away to cover her laughter with the back of her hand.

Looking back to Naomi, and blatantly exasperated, Emily sighs.

"I need to talk to you. I've been trying to ring you since this morning," she says to Naomi, who then guiltily retrieves her mobile from her back pocket.

She looks down at it for a full three seconds. "Shit."

"Honestly, I don't know why you carry it around at all if you're going to keep it on silent or not bother answering," Emily then admonishes, pulling her hand from Naomi's and crossing her arms.

"Ems, don't be mad," Naomi whines, settling for gripping to Emily's waist when she refuses to let Naomi take her hands. "You're here now, so you can tell me all about whatever it is that's making you so adorably forlorn. Have a drink, yeah?"

Emily again sighs, stepping back from the table, shaking her head, and Naomi's hands fall uselessly back to her lap.

"I can't stay, Naomi. I've just been—" she stops short of saying _'grounded,'_ because it sounds incredibly juvenile and embarrassing, particularly in front of people she doesn't know.

Naomi then miraculously comes out of her stupor a bit, enough to realise that Emily's upset, and then stands so that she's looking down at her when she asks with some actual concern, "What's wrong?"

"Can I please just talk to you outside?"

Naomi nods before snatching her pack of fags off the table and a lighter she nicks from Cook, then takes Emily's hand, letting herself be led towards the door.

"Looks like we're down to a threesome, ladies. And, I think we need a little inspiration, what do you say? Christina! A round of panty-droppers for the table, yeah?" Cook hollers, even as Emily pushes through the door of the pub.

Once outside, she turns on Naomi with a venom she can suddenly feel at the back of her throat. "Why are you even here?"

It's not where she'd meant to start the conversation, but it's suddenly incredibly distracting to think that Naomi's off having a social life without any knowledge that hers has been snuffed. Rather indefinitely.

"Cook came round," Naomi shrugs, snapping the lighter until the tip of her cigarette turns black and starts to smoke. "Looked as if he could use a chat, and I don't know—" she blows a cloud of smoke over Emily's head. "Are you mad at me or something?"

Emily is suddenly fucking _furious_. She's just momentarily lost sight of the reasons why. Still, she can be fairly certain that at least partly, it's because of her girlfriend being drunk without her, in the middle of the day, and completely unreachable during a crisis.

"We start college tomorrow, Naomi. Why the fuck would you be out getting drunk with Cook while he entertains some slags?"

"It's college, Emily," she almost laughs. "Not medical school."

"Oh, well, I didn't realise you cared more about going on the pull with Cook than you did about your education."

"Hold on—" she shakes her head as if to clear the haze of so much cider. "Are you mad that I'm out with Cook on the day before college starts? Or, is it about those two girls who are sat with us?"

She looks genuinely confused, and Emily's anger only intensifies.

"I don't give a shit about Cook or whoever you're sat—"

"They're called Kate and Olivia, apparently," she informs easily, rolling her eyes with a drag of her cigarette. "_Allegedly_ university bound, but Cook bought them a round of drinks, and between you and me, they're actually rather, fucking dull—"

"Naomi, just stop talking!" Emily finally shouts, and Naomi actually takes a step backwards.

"Em, what the fuck is going on?" Naomi asks almost warily. "I mean, you're obviously really angry, and I have no idea why. But, I'm sure I can figure out a way to fix it if you can just tell me what the fuck it is that I've done to upset you."

Emily practically grunts, steals the fag from between Naomi's fingers, and takes a much-needed drag. "It's not – I mean, you didn't _do_ anything. I just – I really needed you today, and—"

A phone chimes from the pocket of Emily's jeans, and she almost tosses onto the pavement once she's read Katie's text.

_999: mum home early._

"Fuck. _Fuck._" Without thinking, Emily throws Naomi's cigarette to the floor.

Digging into her other pocket for the key, she turns from Naomi towards the moped, swinging one leg over and turning the engine.

"Em, wait – what the fuck is going on?" Naomi stumbles over, grabbing for the handlebars.

Emily half wonders if it's to steady herself or to keep Emily from leaving.

She only responds by saying, "I've got to go."

Naomi keeps clung to the bike, her face a mix of panic and confusion.

"_Now_, Naomi," Emily reiterates with some urgency, snapping her orange helmet into place.

"Is everything alright? I'm really, fucking worried," Naomi says, and Emily's only got to make eye contact to know it's true. She's got something like actual fear etched all over her still drunken face.

And so her anger falters slightly. "Everything's fine – I mean, it's _not_, but – look, I'll have to tell you about it later, won't I?"

"I'm really sorry I missed your calls," Naomi finally says, though the apology hardly matters at this point. "I'll ring you, okay? And we can talk? I'm – I'm headed home now anyway."

Emily looks off down the road, away from Naomi's earnest face and her stupidly beautiful eyes, shadowed now in what Emily knows is honest concern.

"Em?"

"Stop by the chip shop on your way home, okay?"

"What? Why?"

With a heavy sigh, Emily finally looks back to her. "Saw your mum earlier, and she's off for the evening rallying around pollution or something, so you'll need to eat supper on your own."

"Oh. Alright, I will. Thanks."

"Yeah. Look, I've really—"

"Right, you've got to go. But we'll talk. Later?"

Naomi leans forward, aiming to place a quick kiss, which lands at the corner of Emily's frowning mouth. But Emily still returns it, a second later, more out of habit than actual sentiment.

She knows she's not angry with Naomi for the right reasons, let alone for any _good_ reasons. That it's not her fault if she's got very little parental supervision, and has never been held to any real set of rules.

Nor is it her fault that Cook's taken an instant liking to her, and that they've since formed a sort of quick, inexplicable bond. These things happen without warning, Emily thinks, and JJ springs to mind.

But she can't help her anger, no matter how unfounded.

Emily simply can't admit it's got anything to do with Naomi's freedoms. Or how they suddenly align so poorly with her own.

And she _certainly_ can't admit it's got fuck-all to do with the girls inside the bar, whom she's never met, sat at a table and enjoying afternoon pints with her hopelessly clueless girlfriend.

Naomi steps back a fraction, letting her hand slip from the rubber grip of the handlebar.

"I'll ring you. We'll talk, yeah?"

"Yeah," Emily answers, quickly and softly, and then looks away before Naomi can detect the dishonesty in her voice.

Because she'll likely not speak with Naomi until much, _much_ later. If ever again, really. Because turning up to Fitch central to face the wrath of Jenna and her iron fist, Emily can't be sure she won't be sent off to a life of servitude in an Irish convent. For the rest of her natural life.

* * *

It's Katie's shrill voice though, not her mum's, that Emily hears upon entering the house through the garage.

"Better have remembered my Diet Coke, Emily!"

Once Emily's walked into the kitchen, Katie's pointedly caught her eye, her glare desperate to communicate _something_, while their mum looks on sceptically.

"I didn't bring you a Diet Coke," Emily say slowly, unsurely looking between Katie and her mum. "Sorry?"

"Fucking typical – I ask you for one, sodding thing, and you can't even be arsed to remember between here and the petrol station," Katie says, raising her eyebrows and folding her arms.

"Oh. Right, sorry," Emily repeats, fiddling the clasp on her helmet where it's tucked under her arm.

"Emily, I thought we were very clear – you're not to leave this house under any circumstances," Jenna then says, though she's not nearly as angry as Emily had expected to find her.

"Well, I—" Emily starts, stopping a second later when Katie minutely shakes her head. "—needed to fill up before college tomorrow, and I didn't want to put it off until the morning."

"That's fine, but next time you need to let your father and me know." Her mum admonishes, lightly enough that Emily finds it hard not to let her mouth hang open in shock.

"Okay. I will. And, I really am sorry," she says to Katie, who's still glaring intensely at the side of her face.

"Whatever," she scoffs, roughly pushing past Emily as she exits the kitchen. "Like, I said: fucking _selfish_."

"Katie! Honestly, your _mouth_."

"Leave it, mum," Emily says tiredly.

Turning from her mum's horrified expression, Emily then follows after Katie and prepares for her _actual_ verbal assault, because she knows she's well earned it.

Behind the closed door of their bedroom, Katie flops back against the pillows on her bed, folding her arms like a petulant toddler.

"Well, I hope your snog with Campbell was fucking worth it. Should have let mum lay into you like you fucking deserve."

"I didn't fucking—" Emily stops, breathing out forcefully because fighting with Katie is about the last thing she wants to do, and she hasn't the energy anyway. "Thanks for covering, alright? I'm sorry I left, but I really needed to talk with Naomi."

"Uh, ever heard of a phone?"

Emily's mouth is open before she can stop it from revealing all her secrets. "Well, I tried that, didn't I, but she wouldn't fucking answer."

Katie actually laughs, honestly just cackles loudly into the small space of their shared room, and Emily's urge to throttle her intensifies acutely.

She collapses onto her own bed instead, and requests that Katie please _'shut the fuck up.'_ Of course she doesn't fucking listen – when has she ever – and keeps at it, even as Emily closes her eyes.

"You and Naomi sure have worked out your communication issues over the summer, haven't you?"

"I don't have _'communication issues'_ with Naomi," Emily argues, propping up on an elbow in Katie's direction.

"Bollocks," Katie laughs, entirely relaxed now she's insulting Emily's girlfriend _and_ her relationship, and lolls her head against her pillows towards Emily.

"I don't!" Emily practically shouts back.

"Sure, Ems – she's the pinnacle of emotional availability." Katie links her hands atop her stomach and stares up at the ceiling, almost musing or something. "Naomi doesn't really know how to converse at all – she just fucking talks into open air, expecting people to hang on her every word because she finds herself to be so bloody clever."

Emily tries hard not to think of several, different instances in which Naomi had practically taken a gavel to her table just to get her voice heard over the bored, disinterested droning of their classmates, while she argued – fucking brilliantly and eloquently, Emily is happy to defend – over some fact, or definition, or any number of things with their poor, unsuspecting teacher.

Katie's not right about this. She doesn't know Naomi at all. Emily's sure of it.

"Fuck off," Emily responds tiredly, collapsing back onto her mattress.

But Katie honestly _cannot_ shut up, and so maybe Emily really will have to throttle her.

"I don't see what the big deal is anyway. You'll see her tomorrow, and you can, like, sort out your new schedule for feeling up each other's bits or whatever other _nauseating_ details of your love life are affected by mum and dad's new rules."

"Seriously. Fuck _off_, Katie."

"Fine," Katie sighs. She hops off her bed, grabbing a magazine off her bedside table and a cardigan slung on the chair in front of her dressing table. "You're depressing me anyway."

When the room is empty and falls quiet, Emily runs both hands down the length of her face, taking several, measured breaths against her palms. Her phone, still in the front pocket of her denim, has stayed silent. She fishes it out, flips it open to see its messages or missed calls are non-existent, and then flings it towards the foot of her bed.

Certainly, the events of the past two days add up to more than just coordinating shag schedules. It's not that fucking simple, and Katie's just too complacent in her solitude to see how this changes things. It changes _everything_. Again.

* * *

"Oh, I just don't know, Emily."

Emily's got one foot out the door, helmet propped under her arm, while her hand impatiently thrums along the doorframe.

"How can this even be up for discussion, mum?" She tries to remain calm, knowing the slightest outburst could easily make things worse, and that's an unfathomable outcome considering how miserable she is already. Emily breathes evenly. "We already had this argument when I bought the sodding thing _two months_ ago. It's been sorted."

"Well, yes but, now things are – and what about Katie? How's she meant to get to college if you're off on that – that _thing_."

"How should I know?"

"Forget it, mum," Katie says, breezing between Emily and their mum as she descends the staircase and heads towards the kitchen. "I honestly wouldn't get on the back of that thing if it were the last transport out of hell."

"I'm leaving before I'm late picking up Naomi," Emily then says, quickly seizing an opportunity to end the conversation and make her exit as Jenna's eyes follow Katie's retreating back.

"Emily," Jenna continues, because she just _can't_ let it go, of course, following close behind Emily and lingering just inside the garage. "Shouldn't Naomi have sorted her own way of getting to college?"

One leg swung defiantly over its black, leather seat and key in the moped's ignition, Emily slides her helmet in place before turning back to face her mum. She's grasping at straws at this point, her mum is, and Emily can see panic shining through her typical expression of stone. Not so brazen and confident as the morning prior, that's for sure.

_A flaw in the trap_, Emily almost smiles, catching herself before flaunting too much confidence.

"Yeah, she did, didn't she?" Emily responds, answering as evenly as she can manage. "On the back of her _girlfriend's_ moped."

It's technically their moped, but there's no time to argue semantics, and Jenna can hardly stand the idea of Emily owning a moped at all, let alone the notion of it being shared property with a girl she basically despises for no apparent reason.

Emily's mum stops short of arguing any further, pinching her lips together tightly, and Emily considers it a small victory.

"You'll come straight home after college. Emily?"

Emily's eyes roll as she cranks the engine, its rumble pleasantly drowning out her mum's obvious panic. "Yes, mum. Bye."

Emily's sped off before her mum has a chance to stop her, and the wind on her face is a welcomed additive to the sudden burst of freedom, no matter the way it chills the skin on her hands and arms.

* * *

Emily's got sort of low expectations on the state of things when approaching Naomi's blue door – based on the mostly-slurred conversation Naomi'd had with her the night before. She'd rung Emily somewhere around eight, but it could have been half two for how drunk she sounded. There was no use in relaying any information to her at that point, as Emily had her doubts that Naomi would be able to retain much of anything the following morning.

She's still a bit put out, at the idea of Naomi and the changes in their relationship that Emily's currently too cowardly to consider. But, more than anything, she's rather curious to see just how ill Naomi will be feeling at half seven when she'd spent most of the previous day in the company of Cook, making terrible decisions.

What Emily's definitely _not_ expecting is to find a smiling Naomi, half-dressed and peering through the front windows, which is exactly how she greets her.

Naomi's face appears once Emily's knocked, and she almost stumbles backwards down the steps to see Naomi's got a very small, green towel pinched closed around her otherwise naked chest.

"Oh, thank fuck it's you," Naomi says through the door, sounding much cheerier than Emily had thought a hungover Naomi capable so early in the morning. And then, she's practically beaming as she opens the door, "Hi."

Naomi smiles brightly even as Emily steps cautiously into the flat, giving her a wary eye. "Expecting one of your other girlfriends, were you?"

Naomi not only looks fresh-faced and well-rested, her retorts fire as quickly as ever. "Oh yes, well you know I've a long line of offers to give me a lift this morning."

Emily only hums in response, stood sort of awkwardly near the front door once it's clicked shut behind her, while watching Naomi's hand loosely clasped to the towel around her chest.

It's a well confusing position in which Emily finds herself.

Since on the one hand, Emily's still a bit upset at the way Naomi disappeared yesterday when she really could have used her unwavering pragmatism to talk her down off a ledge of spiralling anxiety.

While on the other hand, she's stood in the same space as a nearly topless Naomi, and it's _incredibly_ distracting.

"So, I've just made some tea," Naomi then says, throwing her thumb towards the kitchen.

Once she's looked away from the wide patch of Naomi's skin that's taunting from where her ridiculously small towel's gaping, it's easier for Emily to tell her, "I don't think we've got time for that, Naomi. I don't want to be late on our first day back."

"Oh." Naomi's biting at her lip when Emily's looked back at her, as if she's concentrating terribly hard on what to say next. It must dawn on her then as she grabs for Emily's hand. "Okay, but just come into the kitchen anyway."

Before Emily can argue, Naomi begins stepping backwards, and the whole shirtless routine is so unfair because Emily's feet just dumbly stumble forward without any kind of restraint.

"I mean, you can sit in here while I finish getting dressed, yeah?" Naomi continues, smiling a bit now as they approach the door to the kitchen.

And Naomi's hand is really warm, Emily notices, where she's grabbed hold of her, which Emily belatedly registers must be because she's just showered. She blinks then, as a whole new set of images hit her, making it impossible to protest in any capacity, particularly once Emily's moved closer to her and can smell Naomi's soaps and lotions.

Naomi stops just inside the kitchen and then waits with this almost embarrassed smile until Emily turns her head towards the table.

"What—" her own smile is involuntary, slowly turning her mouth upwards at the display.

The table's been set for one. An egg, fried perfectly, is sat beside a piece of buttered toast that's been cut into an indecipherable shape, and a small cluster of flowers – no doubt pilfered from Gina's own gardens, the way there is still dirt clinging to their roots – is at the table's centre in a juice glass next to a cup of tea in Emily's favourite mug.

"What's all this?" Emily can't take her eyes off the display, but her hand squeezes Naomi's until she squeezes back.

"Consider it my 'sorry-for-being-a-wanker-girlfriend' offering."

Emily's already laughing, even as she steps closer to her, Naomi wearing a funny smirk she tries to hide while biting at her lower lip. And just like that, every ounce of anger, or frustration, or whatever it was from the day prior, is gone entirely.

"Here I thought greeting me in a towel was your way of apologising," Emily says while inching closer to her, arching a brow towards Naomi's attire [or lack thereof].

Naomi laughs then – full and loud and lovely – with her head tipped back, making it nearly impossible for Emily not to press her lips to Naomi's neck.

"Just an added bonus, that," Naomi winks. "Actually, I came down earlier to make your breakfast, and the postman was stood out front ogling my tits." Naomi looks back down and sighs. "Hence, the towel."

Emily's hand reaches out then, holding to Naomi's waist just below where the towel ends, and Naomi's eyes drop to Emily's lips.

"You should maybe consider not walking around _unclothed_, you know."

"Yes, well, I had more important things on my mind other than the postman's knack for perving, didn't I?" Naomi challenges in the most undeniably attractive way.

To distract herself, Emily momentarily looks away, casting a curious look towards the plate on the table. "What exactly is my toast meant to resemble anyway?"

"Oh, I'm not really sure," Naomi says, her face a confused scowl when Emily looks back at her. "Tried to find a heart-shaped biscuit cutter or something among all the crap mum refuses to purge, but I found this instead. I think it might be a rabbit or a duck something – fuck knows why she's kept it."

There's very little restraint left coursing her body, Emily realises, because Naomi's not only prepared her a breakfast apology, complete with a bloody flower arrangement, she's also thought to include some kind of duck-rabbit toast, which is something so adorably _un-_Naomi, Emily's chest starts to feel dangerously combustible.

"Hmm," she nods, while feeling her hand start to perspire, the one she's got resting on Naomi's waist. "Romantic."

"Well, I try."

"You know," Emily continues, sliding her hand slowly up Naomi's ribcage until her fingers reach the soft underside of Naomi's breast.

Naomi swallows, releases a shallow breath. "Yeah?"

"The next time you plan on cooking me breakfast topless, you might consider doing it while I'm actually _here_."

Naomi's already leaning in as she responds, her eyes falling closed even as she smiles and says, "I'll try to remember that."

The soft kiss escalates quickly, Naomi forgoing her pathetic attempts at modesty as the towel drops to the floor at their feet. It's quick minutes of Emily feeling Naomi's skin under her fingers, Naomi's mouth pressed fully against hers, and her body pressing Emily into the doorframe, before she pulls back to catch her breath.

Naomi stares down, completely fixated, and Emily tries to swallow while watching the colour of Naomi's eyes change shape.

"Help me sort out a shirt for today?" she finally says, still clutching to Emily's hips.

And Emily can only nod, pulled along behind as Naomi heads for the stairs.

Mid climb, Emily questions with very little concern, "We're going to be late for our first day, aren't we?"

Naomi responds only with her delicate laughter and quickens her footsteps up the wooden staircase.

* * *

Naomi pops a button on Emily's top while trying to get her out of it, and so it's while Emily's sat on the corner of the bed, after a quick but much-needed shag, pulling one of Naomi's tops over her head, that she finally starts to explain how awful things have become in just twenty-four hours.

"They'll have to let up eventually though, right?" Naomi's meant for her tone to sound hopeful, Emily thinks. But, the look on Naomi's face says otherwise.

"It's fucking doubtful, isn't it? Knowing my mum, she's not above literally shackling us to the house."

Naomi's face falls further, and Emily is struck again by how lovely she is, even whilst frowning. "I can't believe what a twat I was yesterday. I'm really so sorry I wasn't around, Em."

Emily tries to remember, works to conjure up some of that frustration and anger that felt so violently persistent not twelve hours earlier, but it's gone. And Emily almost wonders if she'd only imagined it.

"It's fine, really," Emily says, unconvincingly optimistic. "I mean, my parents are ruining my life, obviously, but none of that is your fault."

Even Naomi's soothing touch, the way her fingers slide into Emily's hair, isn't helping her mood. She's stood in front of Emily now, their legs staggered, and looks down at Emily with pitifully sympathetic eyes.

"I can't see you _only_ at college," Emily complains.

"Well, neither can I. Obviously."

Naomi lightly tugs at the sleeves of Emily's shirt, _her_ shirt, until Emily's standing in the slight space between Naomi and the mattress edge.

"Tell me this is all going to be alright," Emily says, almost begging Naomi to say something comforting instead of just being cruelly practical as per.

"It's going to be fine, Ems. We'll – I dunno, we'll sort it somehow."

It's a mild relief, Naomi's confidence, no matter how she's feigning it for Emily's benefit, and Emily breathes out while looking up at her. "Promise?"

"'Course," Naomi assures, wearing this easy smile.

And Emily can't say why, she honestly doesn't know how she's been reduced to this girl who's so easily swayed and so quick to believe, except that Naomi's eyes and lips and soft touches can be extremely persuasive.

They're just about running out the front door, horribly late as it is, when Emily pulls up short and Naomi staggers backwards from where their hands are linked.

"What the fuck?"

"My bunny toast!" Emily says, her voice taking on a tone of sheer emergency as she bolts back into the house.

"Em, it's not – jesus, I'll make you another one."

But, it's too late, and Emily's already rounded the corner into the kitchen, snatching the cold toast off the plate and pulling a daisy from the make-shift vase. Emily tucks the flower, wedging it between her head and helmet, even as Naomi rolls her eyes and tries to keep from grinning. She's also left to hold, quite begrudgingly, Emily's duck-rabbit toast while Emily drives, and feeds her bites only when they've stopped for red lights or pedestrian walks.

By the time they've arrived, the daisy has lost several of its petals and the toast is gone, though Naomi has to lean in to kiss the crumbs off Emily's lips before they walk through the doors of Roundview, hand in hand.

* * *

As it turns out, they're not _horribly_ late to college. But late enough that Katie calls attention to Emily and Naomi's entrance into the common room, where everyone's gathered after the opening assembly that they did actually miss.

Panda's sat next to JJ in knee socks and pigtails, looking like a lost schoolgirl without Effy around to tell her where to go and how to act. Thomas is nowhere to be seen either, not that he and Pandora have seemed all that together as of late. Emily takes only a few moments to think about their sad, fractured group before Naomi's hand slips into hers, and everything seems whole again.

Katie's mid-insult just as Emily and Naomi plop onto a blue sofa, which Katie is sat beside, but then Katie stops short, eyeing what looks like Emily's chest.

"What?" Emily asks, looking down to be sure she's not got toothpaste staining her collar or something.

"You didn't leave the house wearing that," Katie comments, her eyes narrowing before her mouth turns down in disgust.

She looks between Emily and Naomi, though Naomi's hardly paying attention to the whole thing, distracted by something in her bag.

And Emily just sighs, waiting uncomfortably for the other shoe to drop.

Katie finally says, "Oh _gross_ – are you fucking serious, Emily?"

"Leave it, Katie," Emily quietly asks, even as her cheeks warm with an embarrassed flush.

"You two continue to be absolutely ridiculous."

"What's she on about?" Naomi then asks, just as Katie gets up from her seat and flounces out of the room without another word.

"She's upset about my fashion choices, apparently," Emily answers with a smirk.

Naomi only rolls her eyes and slips her hand between Emily's knees so that her thumb can move along Emily's knee cap. "Well, I think you wear that top very well."

Emily's face flushes harder as Naomi's eyes sweep over her, right in the middle of the fucking common room, and she has to pinch her lips together to distract from all the sudden heat in her cheeks.

Naomi smiles, quite pleased with herself for having this effect, and she's just leant farther into Emily, about to say something into her ear, when Cook comes flying over the back of the couch, landing onto the cushion beside them.

"Oi, oi, oi!" he hollers, clapping his hands a few times and wearing the same shit-eating grin he's so rarely seen without. "My two favourite muffgrabbers. Welcome to your bright, academic future, lads!"

JJ chuckles distantly, he and Pandora sat across from Emily, Naomi, and Cook, but Emily barely makes eye contact with him before he's looked back to his lap. It registers then that, much like Panda, he also appears somewhat incomplete, and it's then that Emily realises Freddie's not around either.

Emily's still watching JJ, wondering when she last even thought to check in on him and feeling increasingly guilty for not even saying hello, when Naomi leans forward so she can see Cook.

"We miss anything earth-shattering in assembly then?" Naomi asks, and Cook's laughter is more like a scoff.

"Fucking bollocks, innit? Cracking down on security or some shite, regular locker searches." He scratches at his chest and throws one arm around the back of the couch so that it lightly rests atop Emily's head. "Who's keepin gear in his locker anyway?" He reaches to the crotch of his pants. "Got mine tucked up under my—"

"Cheers, Cook, but I don't think we really need to know the details, yeah? Culpability and all," Naomi chimes in.

Thomas walks into the room then, looking rather grim and sombre, and takes a seat by the windows that faces away from the rest of everyone else. The entire group seems to clock him, though no one says a thing before Cook is back on his tangent.

"Look, sod all that nonsense," he continues with a light laugh. "These wankers and their supposed heightened security can piss right the fuck off, yeah? All's I want to know is when me and you are goin' on the pull again, Blondie."

"I was not on the _pull_ with you, Cook," Naomi corrects even as Emily can feel Naomi's grip tighten on her bared knee.

"Semantics, yeah?" He looks to Emily then, wearing a lecherous grin that somehow doesn't feel necessarily unnerving. "Best wingman I've ever fucking had, man. No offense to my boy JJ." Cook snaps his fingers twice and points at JJ, who seems only mildly relieved at the insult. "Got my dick wet not once, but twice last night."

"Charming," Emily tells him. "Doubled your chances to disease your cock then, haven't you?"

He laughs openly then, slapping his rough hand onto Emily's leg in response. "You're fucking aces, Emilio. S'no wonder Blondie here keeps turning down me offers for a three-way."

Naomi's already rolling her eyes when Emily chances a look at her, instantly uncomfortable with the idea of being on a couch with Cook, no matter how unlikely a scenario that he'll suddenly strip naked or anything.

"Bet we'd really up our chances, though, if both you ladies tagged along – what do you say? Bunk off the rest of our day?" Cook proposes.

"It's the first day back, Cook," JJ interjects stiffly, his fingers anxiously picking at the fabric of his trousers.

"Yeah, who'd you plan to surf n turf this term anyway, Cookie – certainly not Ef," Panda echoes, her voice going quiet as she says Effy's name. Just after she catches Emily's eye, looking more like a scared rabbit, Panda bows her head. "Sorry, Emily."

Emily's about to respond, watching as a shadow quickly crosses Cook's face, but in another second it's gone and he's back to grinning. "Plenty of fanny to go around, Panda-pops, don't you worry about Cookie monster. He always finds his milk, doesn't he?"

"Milk?" Panda says unsurely, looking very much like she doesn't want an explanation.

"And there ain't no time like the present, gay J," Cook continues, producing a fag from out of thin air and slipping it between his lips. He turns then to face Emily and Naomi. "Come on then, my lovely little lesbians, first round's on me."

"You're on your own, Cook," Naomi answers flatly, then looks to Emily, as if choosing to ignore every other person in their vicinity. "Want to head off then? Walk you to class?"

It's the second very un-Naomi thing she's done that morning, and Emily has to remind herself that swooning should be reserved for special moments and not Monday mornings, in the middle of college, in front of basically everyone she knows.

"Yeah," she then answers, taking Naomi's hand, and feeling equally relieved to separate from Cook, actually, who's friendly enough but smells of cigarettes and cheap cologne if sat too closely.

"Suit yourselves – more for me." Cook jumps up from the couch first, stretches his arms far above his head, then fakes a jab towards JJ's chest.

When JJ flinches, cowering back into the sofa cushions, Cook only pulls the unlit fag from his mouth and laughs. He really is an unbelievable tosser most of the time, but Emily tries not to think about him being the only other company her girlfriend likes to keep when Naomi's being so chivalrous by walking her to class.

* * *

"English Lit for you then?" Naomi asks, the two of them lingering outside Emily's classroom where students slowly file past or mill about in the final seconds before the bell.

"Yeah – what've you got?"

"Citizenship Studies. Fucking bollocks," Naomi scoffs, rolling her eyes with a haughty air of disinterest.

And Emily can only smile up at her, amused at her tone and how, if it weren't for the way Naomi's hands hold so casually to her waist, or Naomi's general proximity to her amidst throngs of curious peers, Emily could so easily confuse her for the Naomi of years past.

Except she's quite certain that girl is long gone, because it takes only a gentle tug to the front of Naomi's tee shirt for her eyes to fall back to Emily, an easy smile quickly following as Emily raises up on her toes to kiss her.

"See you for lunch?"

"Yeah," Naomi answers softly and leans into Emily.

This is the girl Emily knows now. The one she suspected was there all along. One whose smile is easy, whose lips are soft and willing. A girl who's finally stopped running. A girl who gives in with an almost shocking ease.

Emily's head has already gone to the clouds with these swirling, lofty thoughts; with Naomi's lips moving slowly against her own. So that she hardly registers the howling from down the corridor, what she eventually realises is a group of obnoxious wankers that even Katie would likely avoid, ogling the display of lesbianism like it's common porn or something.

"Piss off and diddle your pathetic micro dicks on your own time, alright?" Naomi shouts at them from where she and Emily are stood a few metres off, her hands never leaving Emily's sides.

Alright then, Emily concedes through a smile, perhaps that girl isn't _completely_ gone, replaced by the softer version of this girl she loves. Naomi's head swivels back to her, even as she's mumbling something about _'ignorant pricks'_ and rolling her clouded blue eyes.

Maybe now, Emily thinks, she gets to have them both.

* * *

**post script:** Also, hooray! Everyone seems to be on board! *throws confetti* many thanks for the follows, favourites, and reviews. I'm very much encouraged by your enthusiasm. Next episode, I'm almost certain we'll be hearing from KFF ...


	3. Episode 2: Katie, part one

**Author's Note:** Hello again, lovelies! I'm preemptively patting myself on the head for staying on a [somewhat] schedule with this. Not promising it'll last mind, but I do try not to keep you all waiting.

I've decided to write from the perspective of each character as we're set within their episode, in case anyone is curious. Though not every character from the gen will get his/her own ep, I feel confident you lot won't be disappointed with the mix I've chosen. Just wanted to relay that to avoid any confusion. And so, without further ado, I give you our beloved Katie Fucking Fitch.

* * *

So, right. She's not, like, _necessarily_ where she thought she'd be six months ago, but she's also not still slagging it with that ignorant prick Danny Guillermo, nor is she shadowing around tall, rail-thin head cases, who obviously have mental health deficiencies. And anyway, given what Katie now understands about Roundview, there's not much status that comes with being in its most popular sanctum anyway.

So, fuck it then, she thinks. Distractions aside, she'll study. Probably. And, she'll get better marks, possibly.

Katie flips two or three pages in her Philosophy book before chucking it to the foot of her bed.

And, she'll sure as shit have to spend less time around that fucking pack of losers she found herself chumming around with out of, like, coincidence or something, during that first year.

Katie reaches for her mobile instead, and stares at it just long enough to become annoyed at its silence.

Emily's gutted about their parents' forced arrangement, of course. People always assume that Katie's the overly dramatic twin, but really, had they spent any amount of time around Emily when she's been told she can't spend every, gagging moment with Naomi fucking Campbell, they might think otherwise. It's proper pathetic, really.

Katie's decided to take their parents' momentary lapse in sanity with a grain of salt, instead of flying completely off the handle and having a basic mental breakdown like Emily's chosen to do. After all, look how well that's working out for her.

Katie scoffs, tilting her head back into her pillows so she can stare at the ceiling.

Anyway, it's not as if Katie's got loads of reasons to leave the house, or a queue of friends stood outside the front door asking after her. But, whatever, because it's better this way. Definitely. Not being trapped inside the house for long hours necessarily, but like, having some quiet and some solitude. It's a nice reprieve, she decides.

* * *

The first week back at college is shit, but then, it could be worse, Katie thinks. Because she quickly learns that by staying sort of quiet, and keeping to herself, it's not hard to get lost in a crowd of faces. In fact, her priorities are so completely opposite from the year prior – always wanting to be seen and heard, and ultimately adored, or at the least, _wanted_ – that she's got to stop and think on whether it's really what she wants at all: to be lost.

But then she spends entire days, roaming through the college corridors, quietly attending lessons, and speaking to almost no one. And it's actually sort of calming, that.

Cook and Freddie almost never show up to the one class they share; JJ sits behind her in Philosophy, but he's so mental about being studious, he never bothers to say much aside from a nervous hello at the start of class; Pandora must be actively avoiding her, she thinks, based on the fact that she's remained best friends with that psychopath, who disappeared after attempted murder and has yet to show her stupid face, because aside from the first day when they'd all accidentally gathered in the common room, out of habit or something, Katie's not seen Panda since; and, as for the lesbian poster children for nauseating young, gay love, well, she avoids _them_ like the Black fucking Plague.

She takes French, thinking someday she'll likely travel for her career and, though absolutely _nothing_ seems to reveal itself at the moment by way of directional goals, it's not hard for Katie to think of Paris Fashion Week and imagine herself there, on the front row.

It's not until the third day that she notices Thomas, who's sat in a back corner with his head down. And it doesn't really make any sense for him to be there – learning to conjugate verbs in his native language alongside someone like Katie, who's depth of understanding French lands somewhere around the lyrics to _'Lady Marmalade.'_

But then Katie thinks about how she's enrolled in General Studies, because Emily had assured her it'd be an easy A, and perhaps Thomas has got the same idea.

They don't speak, she and Thomas, and he hardly makes eye contact with anything but the table at which he's sat, not even bothering to open his textbook most days. And Katie's not sure she ever imagined him to look so grave, his face etched in dark, sombre lines that don't at all suit his complexion. Even his clothes are subdued, no longer the garish prints and bright colours which she'd grown to associate with Thomas.

She almost blanks on why he's gone quiet – stupidly considering it could be problems with Pandora that's made him go all sad – before realising abruptly in the middle of their oral exercises: _oh right, the dead girl._

Katie watches him for the next two days, and not just in French but in the canteen and in the corridors, wondering just when Thomas started looking so much older than the rest of them. By Friday, she's reached her decision with determination.

Thomas seems genuinely surprised, and it's the first she's seen his face change in so many days, when on Monday morning, Katie pulls out the chair beside him, places her bag on the table, and takes her seat.

She tries to decide if his shock means he didn't realise they shared a class, being so removed as he's seemed, or if Thomas simply has an impression of her as some kind of impersonal bitch. After some briefly uncomfortable contemplation, she decides it probably doesn't matter either way.

Still, they don't talk – exchanging only quick, uncertain glances – and so Katie continues through her days, quietly adjusting to her self-imposed solitude.

Emily, of course, always finds her eventually. Even if they've not managed to walk in together [which they don't, like, _ever_], or aren't enrolled in any of the same classes [aside from General Studies], she always pops up at some point in the day to _'check-in.'_

Like Katie would forget to eat or breathe were Emily not around to monitor Katie's vitals.

She doesn't necessarily mind it, having Emily leant up against the lockers babbling on about this teacher, or that coursework, or Naomi's new shade of lip gloss, while Katie gathers her notes. But, at some point during their second week, it makes Katie stop and wonder – whilst listening to her sister blather on – just why she'd been so intent on keeping Emily around constantly, because honestly, DNA pairings aside, they really have fuck-all in common.

Katie briefly remembers trying to force Emily into being someone she isn't, but brushes the memory aside just as quickly because, you know, bygones.

Today, Emily wants to know how much revision Katie plans to do over the weekend and how heavy her course load is turning out to be, but it's all cursory, really. Because what Emily _really_ wants to talk about, is what she _always_ wants to talk about, or rather _whom_, and so Katie bites back an urge to shriek in frustration, waiting for her sister to just get on with it already.

"Think they'll ease up at the weekend then?"

It's the topic of their perpetual grounding – the thing Emily can't help obsessing over around the bloody clock like it's the greatest injustice since Peter Andre dropped Jordan [as if that stupid prat is _ever_ going to do any better].

Emily's slid into the seat at her elbow, setting her tray of crisps and fizzy drink beside Katie's tray of carrot sticks and cranberry juice.

Katie rolls her eyes with a light laugh, while snapping a carrot stick in half with her teeth. "It's hardly been two weeks, Emily. Is your patience really that thin?"

"No," Emily counters, smirking so hard Katie almost recoils at what she's about to hear. "My libido is just that persistent."

"Ugh. Don't make me vomit," Katie grumbles, reaching for her juice. The top loosens with a light pop, and she takes a sip as Emily enjoys a self-satisfied grin. "Where is the mouthy one then? Almost didn't recognise you without her hand glued to your hip."

Emily answers distractedly, her head suddenly pivoting around the canteen. "Having a cigarette." When Emily's eyes make it back to the table, she's frowning at Katie. "And, we're living in the same nightmare of relentless supervision, Katie, so you've obviously seen me _without_ Naomi."

Katie smirks, pointing at Emily with a carrot stick. "Not outside the walls of Fitch penitentiary, no."

It's Emily's turn to roll her eyes, even as she shoves three crisps into her mouth at once.

"I'm serious, though," Katie continues, still waving the carrot stick about. "It's like you've got some sort of homing device, and anytime Naomi's within a three-metre radius, you're up her twat in seconds," Katie accuses with a slight shiver.

"It's not—" Emily's head has snapped round before she can defend herself because a laugh they both recognise has just sounded near the canteen doors as Naomi breezes into the room.

She clocks Emily instantly, and then heads towards their table with this bright, cheerful smile, looking at Emily like she's a bloody ray of sunshine, and Katie actually shakes her head while watching it all happen.

_Fucking lesbian homing device. _

Naomi's hand comes to rest on Emily's shoulder just as Katie looks back up to see Naomi's been followed by an equally cheerful looking brunette with this cool, asymmetrical haircut and a charity shop wardrobe that _actually_ works, Katie admits sourly, and makes the shit Naomi wears even more distasteful by comparison.

"Hey," Naomi says, and Emily turns in her seat to smile up at her, her hand coming to rest on the back of Naomi's knee. "Em, this is George."

Katie, without even being addressed, can't help herself, "_George?_"

"Georgina, technically," the girl says, jerking her head to one side to flip her hair from her eyes. "But, I always associate that type of name with big, flapping dresses and women who sit around waiting to be married off. You know, Jane Austen shit," the girl laughs, quickly followed by Naomi's pretentious chuckle, while Katie scowls up at them and Emily smiles wanly. "So yeah, George."

"Hi, I'm Emily."

Emily extends her hand towards the girl because, despite how apprehensive Katie suspects she might be, Emily is seriously just _too nice_ to be anything but courteous, like, all the time.

"Right, the girlfriend," George confirms with the kind of appreciative smile Katie suddenly recognises, and she almost chokes on her sip of cranberry juice at the realisation.

_Jesus Christ, are they taking over the bloody college now? Pandemic lesbianism, _she calculates._ Fucking great. _

"George actually just nicked a fag off me," Naomi explains while Emily works to knit their fingers together, and Katie has recovered enough from her near-choking episode to roll her eyes at the pair of them.

Always tangled up in some sickening way. As if the only chance of survival is constant skin-to-skin contact, like, _all_ of the time.

"No, no, only borrowed," the newest lesbian is defending. "I have every intention of returning the favour once I get my pay check on Friday." George smiles, her palms raised up in mock defence.

"Right. Anyway, I've decided to forgive her since she's offered us free admission to the roller rink." Naomi glances at the girl over her shoulder before returning her gaze to Emily, and wags their joined hands.

"You can't skate for shit, Naoms," Emily cautiously points out.

"Thought it could be fun," Naomi shrugs. "Maybe this weekend, yeah? Get really pissed and then see who can stay on their wheels the longest?"

"Yeah, Naomi, I don't know if—" Emily starts, the smile she'd been wearing fading quickly.

But George cuts in before Naomi realises what a twat suggestion she's just made. "Sorry, but you two are, like, _nearly_ identical."

Naomi and Katie answer in a fervent, synchronised chorus.

"No, they're _not_."

"No, we're _not_."

George only laughs, adjusting the leather postman's satchel on her shoulder. "Uh, okay, but sisters anyway, yeah?"

"Your manners are shite, Campbell." Katie sighs, offering a polite smile and her well-manicured hand. "Katie, Emily's very _fraternal_ twin."

"Right," George smiles. "Pleasure."

Naomi very audibly scoffs, and then nicks a crisp from Emily's packet. "Apologies, Katiekins, I often have a hard time remembering to be courteous for the benefit of someone who openly despises me."

"You're still a twat," Katie answers.

Emily lightly interjects by saying, "Katie," and furrowing her eyebrows to which Katie only shrugs, as if to say, _'Well, she _is_.'_

And Naomi's still smirking arrogantly right up until she's placed the crisp in her mouth, at which point she frowns heavily and nearly spits the thing onto the table.

"Ugh, vinegar, Emily, _really_?" Naomi complains, the crisp still sitting uncomfortably on her tongue so she's got to sort of talk around it.

Katie stifles a laugh, making accidental eye contact with an equally-amused George, who instantly outranks both her sister and Naomi, simply by fashion alone, but additionally, for being able to find humour in Naomi's misfortunes.

"I like the vinegar flavour – anyway, maybe you should get a lunch of your own," Emily suggests, tilting the open packet back in her direction, even as Naomi crunches away looking like she's just tasted bits of bath soap.

"I'm gonna queue up for whatever indecipherable shite they're serving today," George announces. "I'm too hungry to question it at the moment." She sighs when looking to Naomi. "Care to join?"

"Do you reckon they'll have any battery acid to wash down the taste of—_ow!_" Naomi retracts her arm where Emily's gone ahead and pinched the skin just above her elbow. "I mean, I'm fine. Thanks," Naomi grimaces, and George just laughs before offering the table a jaunty salute.

"Cool. Cheers for the mid-afternoon entertainment ladies – see you lot around."

Naomi slumps into a seat beside Emily, still a stroppy state, and Katie has to look away before saying something degrading, which she's honestly trying to reign in for the sake of world peace or whatever, just as Emily sighs and inches her mango Lilt towards Naomi with an index finger.

* * *

What bothers her isn't that Thomas doesn't talk to her, or even acknowledge her presence beside him, really – not other than their shared, curt hellos at the start of class. What really starts to wear on her by the middle of that second week, she realises, is how Thomas never smiles anymore.

It's an odd realisation because she doesn't know him very well, outside of the sort of dangerous and infinitely foolish situations they've shared in the past, and so she doesn't know why it matters to her whether Thomas is glum instead of glowing, except it does.

Katie's utterly perplexed by it for almost their entire lesson, but then she thinks it couldn't, fucking hurt, and slides her hand across the table, jotting something in pencil on an empty page of Thomas' notebook. Her cheeks flush the entire time because Thomas is obviously watching her, and he does nothing in response for a full, three minutes while Katie's sat there feeling like a massive idiot for even trying.

But just as she's about to make a hasty exit, claim sudden illness or something, he reaches towards her hand, the one still clutching her pencil, gently pulling it from her grip and moving back to the spot on his page of notes where Katie had written _'you should smile more'_ in French. He crosses out a few letters, correcting the conjugation, and then slides her pencil back across the table.

Katie continues to feel increasingly stupid up until she chances a brief look to her left, finding Thomas looking back at her and wearing a small smile. It buoys her spirits a ridiculous amount, and she bites down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep her grin from being too obvious. When class ends, Thomas stands to gather his things without a word.

But, two days later, when they're again sharing a table during French lessons, Thomas reaches over to her own notebook and scribbles out, _'vous devriez aussi.'_

It feels like the start of something she hadn't seen coming.

* * *

The shitstorm she'd been expecting on day one, happens on Friday of their second week.

Katie's stood outside General Studies when she realises she's left her assignment back in her locker, and pushes off the wall with a huff because she'll never be able to secure a table for herself and Emily now, not if she turns up late, and they'll be forced to sit in the very front. Not that Emily ever gives a shit about getting there on time, and it's painfully obvious as to _why_ – not that Katie ever really questioned it – when she rounds the corner to find the pair of them leant up against Emily's locker, snogging happily like the world around them has ceased to exist.

She fights back an urge to gag, seriously considers forgoing her assignment altogether, and then rolls her eyes and stomps forcefully towards her locker just as Naomi brushes hair from Emily's face and kisses the tip of her nose.

Katie actually gets as far as doing the combination on her locker – which is, like, _right next to_ Emily's – before either of them acknowledge her presence.

Even then, it's just a lazy smile from Emily. "Hey," she says, her fingers crooked through Naomi's belt loops so as to keep her from drifting away or something. "I'll walk to class with you, yeah?"

"I just forgot something – don't let me interrupt you or anything," Katie says with a wave of her hand, and at least with her locker door open Emily's hands and Naomi's moony eyes are hidden from view.

It's also why she doesn't realise she's put herself in the line of fire.

A familiar voice, so haunting it raises the tiny hairs at the back of Katie's neck, says, "Well, that didn't take very long."

Emily's still stuttering a response while Naomi states the fucking obvious. "Shit. Effy. You're back."

Effy's commentary is clearly on her sister's call to lesbian action, and Naomi's willing participation. But all three of their stupid faces freeze instantly as Katie slams shut her locker door, coming face-to-face with Effy's once-smirking mouth and eyes that have somehow grown shades bluer.

She recovers after a moment, Effy does, sounding terribly insincere as she comments, "Katie, you're looking well."

Katie's jaw clenches several times, but she doesn't break eye contact, even as Naomi and Emily cast cautious glances to the girls poised on either side of them.

"Don't fucking talk to me," Katie warns, keeping her voice as even as possible, and grabbing Emily's elbow as she begins tugging her away from the lockers. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Emily, for fucking once, allows herself to be dragged away from Naomi without some, like, grand farewell, and once they've rounded the corner she looks at Katie like she's expecting her sister to crumble into bits right there in the college corridor.

"Katie—"

"I'm fine, Emily."

"But—"

"And I don't want to talk about it."

Emily pauses just outside the classroom, perhaps waiting for Katie to change her mind, fall apart completely, or march right back to Effy Stonem's smug face and punch her in the throat. But Katie's not, like, some reactionary time bomb anymore. And she couldn't give a toss if Effy is skulking through Roundview or doing bloody peace work in the Sudan. So Katie ignores Emily's hesitations entirely, avoiding her big, worrisome, _Emily_ eyes, and breezes into the room without her, taking a seat at the only table left empty [in the very front], even as her hands tremble when reaching for her notebook and pen.

* * *

**post script:** your reviews continue to be lovely, and your support continually brightens my day.

I should mention again that these updates would not be possible without one of my favourite Naomily shippers: **naomilylove**. You are the sugar in my tea, love ;)

If you've a moment to say hello, please do. Tomorrow is my birthday xx

oh! And, I've not done this in ages, but I've got to insist you give **tinderbliss** a read. She's got a good thing going with her fic In The Rough, and I refuse to let her give up on it even though it's a bit of a slow build, so go give it a read, yeah?


	4. Episode 2: Katie, part two

**Author's note**: more KFF you say? Oh, alright then. Your birthday wishes were lovely. Thanks so much :)

* * *

It's not until her last class of the day that Katie realises, with very little relief, that she's arrived at the weekend, relatively unscathed.

Unexpected encounters with Effy Stonem notwithstanding.

Still, her weekends no longer hold the same kind of thrilling activities they once did. She'll likely be stuck in the back garden, listening to Emily bitch and moan for hours, or be roped into playing video games with James while her mum inevitably forces them to participate in yet _another_ family barbeque full of board games, kale salad, and shitty virgin Pimm's cups.

To delay the inevitable then, Katie changes course, heading away from the college exit and towards the library. Surely her parents can't be angry with her for lingering at college if she's sat in a room surrounded by books? Anyway, Emily will be off somewhere eating Naomi's face – craftily evading at least a portion of their stringent curfew, all thanks to that godforsaken motorbike.

_Fucking death trap on wheels_, Katie thinks, and pushes through the doors of the library.

It's musty and drafty and rather, fucking creepy, actually, but then it's Friday, Katie remembers, and only losers would be found in libraries on a Friday afternoon, a thought which makes her regret her decision only minimally.

Because maybe she is a bit of loser now, she supposes – one with no social life, no boyfriend, no friends at all really. Save for her sister, perhaps. And even then, she wonders if that's the right word at all.

Katie finds herself wandering aimlessly for a bit, her eyes and nose adjusting gradually to the dim lighting and smell of old books. The dark blue glow of computer monitors draws her attention as she rounds the stacks, and she plops down at one, dropping her bag at her feet and clicking around on the screen with very little purpose.

The internet browsers are all preloaded to news sites, and so without even trying, Katie's suddenly confronted with the girl [her smiling face and her sad, brief backstory] who's essentially responsible for the recent changes in her home life. She doesn't feel resentment, like Emily. But there is an odd sense of connectedness she'd not expected to feel as her eyes dart around the girl's features.

It's the same photo she's seen before, splashed across the evening news, as Katie'd sat watching with her dad, who she knows is more interested in the Premiere League rankings than he is with current events. But she takes more time with it now, the photo, imagining for a quick second the life this girl – called Fiona – might have had outside of one, tragic night of poor judgement.

Only child. Good student. No involvement with social clubs at Roundview. Katie can't even place her, swirled in with all the other nameless faces she passes daily in the corridors, though she tries for several, useless minutes.

There are quotes from Fiona's grieving parents that set something spinning inside Katie's stomach, and though she's still not interested in going home just yet, Katie very quickly decides she no longer wants to be sat in a darkened library either, reading about the death of a girl her age.

The grounds outside are practically empty of students when Katie pushes through the front doors, but there are loiterers still leant up against the building smoking cigarettes and boys on skateboards doing tricks down the front steps in direct rebellion of school policy and the signs that discourage skating on the premises. Katie does a quick inventory to be sure none of them are Freddie because it's not an encounter she's willing to have today – first Effy and then her pathetic, lovesick shadow, fucking Christ no thanks – and when she's certain she doesn't recognise any of them, Katie heads in the direction of the steps.

It's not until she's reached the steps that she also realises someone is sat on them, seemingly oblivious to the boys leaping and crashing about on their skateboards. And, it takes another beat to realise it's Thomas.

She doesn't even consider just walking past – even though Katie's more than certain Thomas wouldn't notice her if she did – and instead, surprising even herself, sits down beside him and unloads her bag onto the step at her feet.

"Hey," she says, but Thomas is wearing those big headphones like the kind someone would use to DJ or something, and so she bumps his knee with her own a second later.

"Oh. Katie, hello," Thomas answers, slipping the bulky headphones off his ears so they can rest around his neck.

"What're you still doing here?"

Thomas' face, which had lightened a bit as he turned to find Katie sat beside him, darkens again just as quickly. "Avoiding my home, sadly."

Katie chirps a laugh and shakes her head. "Running theme today then."

Thomas considers her for a moment and then says, "Yes."

"I've been in the sodding library, if you can believe it," Katie tells him.

"Why would I find that so unbelievable?"

Katie thinks he must be taking the piss, but given the sincere look of confusion she finds on his face, it's clear he's not. And it's then Katie has to remind herself that the native sarcasm that so often makes the rest of them sound like arseholes is usually lost on someone so purely good, like Thomas.

"Forget it," she smiles, and Thomas goes back to staring at the distant treeline in front of them.

The sounds of skateboard wheels catching on the pavement surrounds them, and the distant whirr of passing cars, but other than that, it's quiet. Katie doesn't even mind it – the fact that neither of them say anything for long minutes – and finds herself enjoying Thomas' company even without conversation. She can't help but consider that if she'd not enjoyed the sound of her own, bloody voice so much, an actual friendship with Effy might have looked a bit like this. Sitting together, in a shared silence.

But then Katie remembers that Effy is a cunt, and she doesn't want a friendship with her now or _ever_, thanks, real or otherwise.

Katie then wonders if now – outside of their French lessons – would be a good time to ask Thomas why he's been so, well, un-Thomas-like since the start of term. She wonders if it's not something more than having pulled that girl – _Fiona_, she corrects herself – from the toilets all those nights ago.

This is maybe what friends do, Katie thinks, check in on each other. And, she doesn't really feel like she and Thomas are friends, necessarily. But then, she doesn't really feel like they _aren't_ friends either.

As she's still weighing up her decision to invade Thomas' personal life, he breaks the silence. "Have your parents lifted your curfew then?"

"What?" Katie nearly stutters, suddenly feeling like _her_ personal life has been invaded.

"I'm sorry," Thomas says quickly. "I should not have asked."

"No – no, it's fine. I just – how did you know?"

Thomas smiles, a bit sheepishly. And, again, Katie notes how much better it makes her feel just by looking at it.

"Your sister is not so quiet about how badly it displeases her. She spends a great deal of time expressing her frustrations to JJ during English Literature."

"Christ, she won't fucking shut up about it." Katie leans back into the steps, resting on her elbows, and tips her head towards the clouded sun.

"You're not upset about it? These new rules set in place by your parents?"

"It's not like it's _ideal_ or anything," Katie admits with a shrug. "But, I don't know, I'm trying to understand where they're coming from, you know? I mean, don't get me wrong – my mum's gone more than a bit mad when it comes to overprotecting us, and I don't really appreciate being forced into, like, seclusion." Katie sits up again, folds her arms around her knees, and pictures Fiona's green eyes and shy smile. "But, something terrible happened, and I can only imagine how that would make me feel as a parent. About my own kids, you know?"

Thomas considers her for a moment before returning his gaze forward. He nods solemnly. "Yes, it is a terrible thing."

"You were there," Katie starts unsurely, licking her lips a moment later when her throat feels dry. "That must have been … hard."

"Death is never easy, but it is the ways in which this tragedy have been ignored that is most disturbing."

"But, it's everywhere, isn't it? The news, the papers, even the library computers," Katie offers.

"I come from a place of war and unrest. A place where children become soldiers and learn to shoot guns they themselves cannot carry. It is a country full of death that is unavoidable. We are a very poor people left powerless to death, which seems to fold in on all sides." Thomas keeps his eyes trained on the empty spaces before them, but Katie's breath has turned shallow just watching his face constrict painfully. "But, the students here in this country, even our friends – if that's what they are, I can no longer be sure – they do not mourn death the way it is mourned in my country. They are left unaffected by it, to carry on with their drugs and their dancing, and I do not understand." Thomas shakes his head, claps both hands onto his knees and tightens his grip. "I do not understand a country who has not seen death, as I have, and yet remains so jaded by it."

It feels like the wrong thing to say, but then Katie hasn't a clue if there's a right thing to say to something like that, and so it spills out before she can stop it. "I'm sorry, Thomas."

Her voice seems to break through somehow though, and Thomas turns his head towards her with a sad smile. "You cannot apologise for an entire generation, Katie."

"Still, feels like I should. We can be a bunch of selfish prats, can't we?"

"You are different," Thomas tells her, as if assessing her for the first time, and Katie blushes immediately.

"I'm not though," Katie says almost shamefully, casting her eyes to her lap, knowing deep down she's no better than the kids Thomas doesn't understand. Knowing that six months ago, she'd not have let this Fiona girl affect her at all. "I think I'm just – lonely."

"Good," Thomas says, his grin so much more natural now.

"_Good?_" Katie laughs, looking up at Thomas and his pleased smile full of very white teeth.

"Yes," he nods. "We can be lonely together."

* * *

She lets Thomas walk her home without much protest because Katie figures if he's not allowed to be chivalrous, he honestly does not know what to do with himself. And, really, she's enjoying his company so much more than she ever thought she would, so it only makes sense to extend their time together.

Of course, good things can't possibly be expected to last – definitely not where she's concerned, Katie thinks bitterly – and so, it's really no surprise that when they turn up to the front door, the sound of Emily's temper can be heard from inside the Fitch house.

Thomas looks appropriately taken aback, and so to preserve their lovely afternoon, Katie insists he leave immediately, practically shoving him away from the house while thanking him for walking her home.

Katie hears her mum, sounding surprisingly desperate, as she closes the front door behind her and slips off her shoes.

"Emily, will you _please_ lower your voice so we can talk about this rationally?"

"There's nothing to fucking talk about, is there?" Emily shouts back, and Katie follows the sounds of her sister's outburst into the kitchen. Emily clocks her at the doorway of the kitchen instantly. "Oh, nice of you to show up – I suppose there'll be additional punishment for Katie then, too? For turning up after dark when college let out hours ago?"

"Emily, Jesus—" Katie starts quietly, but her dad is cutting in then, sounding even more desperate than her mum.

"Ems, love, let's just calm down, alright? You've got yourself in knots."

"Tell her, Dad," Emily begs, near tears as she turns to face him. "Tell her this isn't fucking fair."

"I am only trying to keep you _safe_, Emily," their mum tries, reiterating her plea for the four hundredth time.

"No, you're not! You're just using the death of some poor girl for the benefit of your own, controlling agenda!"

"Emily, chill the fuck out," Katie warns, knowing her sister's not exactly doing them any favours.

"That is _no_ way to speak to your mother, Emily. You will apologise to me _at once_," Jenna demands, though Katie can see the way her hands are shaken against a chair back, her eyes wild with panic.

"I'm sorry, mum," Emily responds snidely, snatching a set of keys off the kitchen table. "I'm sorry you have so little faith in your parenting skills that you can't let Katie and I make our own decisions."

"Em—" Katie tries, only to be shoved aside by Emily as she exits the kitchen.

"Well, here's a decision I'm making – I'm taking the moped, which you seem to think you can take ownership of, back to Naomi's." Emily jingles the keys in her hand once, and then heads for the garage.

"You most certainly will do no such thing," Jenna says, scurrying after her.

"We paid for it _together_, mum. Which means it's not just mine, and it's sure as fuck not yours. It's mine and Naomi's, and if you'll not let me use it, then it belongs with her."

Katie's followed behind her mum where she's stood just inside the garage, and spots James perched at the top of the staircase, looking scared for once instead of just amused. When Katie looks back to the garage, Emily's already on her beloved moped, struggling to fasten her stupid, orange helmet.

"I'm not letting you go without your sister," their mum then says, and Katie quickly steps into the garage.

"_What?_" Katie and Emily both answer in unison.

"I'm not getting on the back of that thing!" Katie argues, fear flashing in her eyes.

"Katie, go with your sister, please. For me," Jenna petitions with a pleading look.

"Fucking hell," Katie mutters, stepping towards Emily's prize possession.

"Mum, this is exceedingly unnecessary," Emily argues. "I don't need—"

"You'll take Katie with you, or you'll not go at all, Emily. That's final." Their mum, having somehow recovered an ounce of control over the situation, crosses her arms defiantly and eyes them both with a piercing glare.

"Fine. Whatever," Emily concedes, and reaches for a second helmet off the shelving beside her to hand to Katie.

"Ugh," Katie groans, sliding the bulky thing onto her head. "Campbell better not have head lice."

* * *

Naomi answers the door, looking like Christmas has come early the way her face lights up, because of _course_ she's only seen Emily, while Katie lingers somewhere behind her. It's when Naomi leans in with a breathy _'hey,'_ placing a kiss near the corner of Emily's mouth, that she finally spies a scowling Katie, arms crossed impatiently, and then she's just endlessly, fucking amused.

"Hold on, am I seeing fucking double, or what? Because there's no way in hell Katie Fitch has turned up to my house without being gagged and bound against her will."

Emily, wearing a kind of half-smile, casts this quick look over her shoulder, as if acknowledging Katie's presence, but Katie's eyes are trained on Naomi and her idiocy. She's started pantomiming sobriety tests – alternating between touching her index fingers to the tip of her nose and squinting one eye closed and then the other.

"Spliff I had earlier must've been stronger than I thought," Naomi grins, and Emily affectionately rolls her eyes, taking one of Naomi's hands in hers.

"Jesus, Naomi, you do far better as a pretentious know-it-all than you would do a stand-up comedian," Katie critiques, tightening her arms over her chest.

"Cheers, Katie, means a lot coming from a humourless bitch like yourself."

Emily looks poised to intervene, but an older blonde woman with cropped hair and cheerful dimples appears just behind Naomi, and Katie realises this must be the woman responsible for Naomi's existence, willing herself not to despise the woman out of, like, instinct.

"Emily! I thought I heard you, dear," the woman's saying, smiling at Emily and resting her hand on the doorjamb. "And let me just say, whatever it is my daughter's on, she didn't get it from me."

"Oh, _ha ha_, mum—"

"It was my sister you heard, actually." Emily turns then, revealing Katie stood there on the doorstep, under a dome of yellowy light from the covered porch. "Gina, this is Katie."

"Oh! Well, for chrissake what are you two doing hovering out there in the dark?" Gina lightly swats Naomi's shoulder while beaming at Katie, waving the twins into the house. "Come in, come in. I've just put the kettle on."

As soon as Emily's crossed the threshold, Gina's wrapped her up in a warm hug, while Katie leans awkwardly against the front door once it's closed. It doesn't last long though, her displacement, because Gina releases Emily just long enough to snatch Katie into a hug as well.

"It's so lovely to finally meet you, Katie," Gina says mid-hug, and Katie's so taken aback by her genuine affection, she can't respond for a full three seconds.

"Oh, um, yeah. Right, you too," Katie manages as Gina is pulling away and giving her upper arm a squeeze.

"Well, I know how these two take their tea. What'll it be for you, dear – light and sweet as well?" Gina starts for the kitchen, wearing a smile that feels very familiar even if it's the first time Katie's seeing it.

Just as Katie's prepared to – extremely politely, of course – advise Gina not to come within ten paces of her tea with even a granule of sugar, Emily cuts in.

"Actually, Gina, I sort of need to talk with Naomi for a minute. Do you mind if we just nip out back for a bit?"

"Everything alright?" Naomi asks, seamlessly sliding her arms around Emily's waist.

Katie watches as Emily's shoulders sag, and she's honestly already _so short_ when stood next to Naomi, but seeing her looking up at Naomi's face and held in her light clutches, Emily looks so _impossibly_ small.

"Not exactly," she sighs. "Anyway, before we head out back, I think I left my—"

"Yeah, you did. Found it under my desk earlier. Want me to grab it for you? Bit chilly out there, isn't it?"

"Yeah, thanks," Emily smiles, and then seems to remember as she starts to pull away, "Oh, and check the pocket for—"

"They're already out back. Sorry – had to nick one earlier when my pack ran out," Naomi says, biting her lip once she's come clean, and Emily nearly melts, as if she'd let Naomi take every, single one of her earthly possessions if it meant getting to see _that look_.

They part ways after that, without a second glance at either Gina or Katie, who's still stood near the front door, wearing the type of expression she so often does in their presence.

"Bit disconcerting, isn't it?"

Katie catches Gina's eye at the sound of her voice, finding her eyes almost sparkling with amusement.

"What's that?" Katie shrugs.

"The way being loved-up makes you go a bit mental and start sharing a brain."

"Yeah, it's a bit terrifying sharing a room with her sometimes, honestly."

"Well, if it's any consolation," Gina sighs, "I think Emily is sane by comparison."

"Christ," Katie smiles sympathetically, just on the verge of an actual laugh, but Gina doesn't hold back – chuckles loudly and effortlessly while extending her arm towards Katie.

"Come on then, let's have a seat while we wait for these two to sort out whatever new complications have come about in their lovely, fucking relationship _this_ week."

Katie does laugh then, stepping forward so that Gina can wrap an arm around her shoulders and lead her into the kitchen.

* * *

She's only halfway through her cup of tea when the back door bangs open and Emily's angry face appears in the kitchen doorway.

"Come on, we're leaving," she demands, her voice sounding both stern and incredibly fragile. "Sorry, Gina."

Katie stands without questioning, casting an apologetic glance back to Gina, who looks concerned though not at all shaken by the outburst, and Katie wonders briefly just how often Naomi and her stupid sister are having rows in this lovely woman's house.

"Thanks for the tea," Katie says with a small smile, and Gina pats her hand with one of her own, which is just so warm and soothing a gesture that Katie, not for the first time, has trouble wrapping her head around the fact that this woman and Naomi actually share genes.

"Anytime – _both_ of you girls are welcome here any time."

Emily's already heading for the door when Naomi's voice trails after her desperately. "Emily, wait – Em!"

Katie exits the kitchen just as Naomi comes barrelling through the hallway, though she's stopped rather easily with a stony look from Katie, which Katie takes as a clear indication that whatever the fuck has happened is obviously Naomi's fault.

_No surprise there._

Because, really, regardless of Emily's recent turn of psychotically irrational behaviour, Naomi cocking things up in their relationship does seem to be the pattern.

"Katie, honestly, I didn't do anything," Naomi tries desperately.

"Sure you didn't."

Exasperated, Katie spins on her heel, pushing past Naomi and heading out the door after Emily.

When Naomi turns, both hands atop her head and fingers threaded through her blonde hair, it's only to find her mum watching her – looking both expectant and like she's not at all surprised – with a mug of tea raised partway to her mouth.

"_What?_ I didn't _do_ anything!" Naomi defends, her voice shrill and her eyes wide.

"Yes, well, love, from what I've witnessed between you and Emily, very often that is precisely your problem."

* * *

Emily's already several paces off, nearly rounding the corner when Katie reaches her and falls into stride. She's crying, Emily is, but her face isn't at all saddened, and it's obvious then that these are angry tears, the way Emily furiously swipes at her face with her left hand.

"So, what is it this time?" Katie waits through Emily's silence until they've rounded another corner before she loses any patience she might have been clinging to. "Come on, Emily – it's not a short, fucking walk home, and I'm not going to spend the whole time watching you cry while refusing to speak to me!"

Katie stops short, waiting for Emily to do the same, and when she does, it takes a few seconds for her to turn towards Katie with a resigned sigh.

"Naomi wasn't exactly in favour of me staying with her, okay?"

Katie's breath catches unexpectedly, and she almost tips backwards. "What do you mean – like, _living_ together?"

Emily sighs again, rubs both hands down the length of her face and turns to walk away, though this time a bit more slowly, like she expects Katie to follow.

"Yes, Katie, like living together."

Katie falls into step a half second later. "_Permanently?_"

Emily shrugs. "Or until Mum and Dad stop acting like fucking tyrants, and just admit they overreacted." Katie watches as Emily shakes her head, staring down at the pavement in front of them. "Not that it matters now anyway."

"Jesus, Em. Isn't that the sort of thing people usually discuss?"

"Fuck off."

"Well, what did Naomi say when you asked her?"

"Nothing, okay? She said _nothing_. As usual. And I'm just so – fuck it, I'm done with all of it."

Katie's got to really concentrate not to laugh out loud, which she does by biting hard to the inside of her cheek for a moment, but the amusement on her face she can't hide for shit.

"You're _done_," she repeats, looking over at Emily, whose eyes have started to fill again with tears. "You're done with a relationship you've wanted – with a girl you've fucking _chased_ for years – and just like that," Katie trails off, trying desperately to keep the laughter from bubbling out.

"I'm glad you're finding this amusing, Katie. Fucking typical," Emily sulks, again quickening her pace.

"Well, you're being bloody stupid, which is also _fucking typical_," Katie counters, catching up to Emily's stride.

"Honestly, I thought you'd be more pleased," Emily comments dully. "And, I'm not—"

"You are. You're being really, fucking stupid, which I guess means that we were both right: you're gay _and_ stupid. Because you're not mad at Naomi, Emily."

"How do you even—"

"You're mad at Mum, and Dad too a bit, I'm sure. You're so mad at them you can't even fucking see straight, and so you're lashing out at anyone in your path. Naomi's just the latest, fucking casualty, but she's not who you're angry with." Emily has slowed and turns to watch as Katie struggles to finish her point, because speaking of Naomi Campbell in a favourable light is fucking tasking. "No matter what she said or didn't say, Naomi's – she's on your side, Em. Okay? And, by the way, so the fuck am I. Don't forget that."

They walk the rest of the way at a slow pace, in shared silence, and it's not until they've crawled into their respective beds and turned out the lights, that Katie hears Emily's voice. She first assumes Emily's dialled Naomi to apologise, feeling oddly satisfied that her lecture on the walk home did some good, but then Emily's words [_'I knew her.'_] hang in the darkness, and Katie realises they were meant for her.

Katie only manages to say, "What?" before Emily's rolled over towards Katie's bed, her face illuminated softly by the streetlamps outside their window.

"The girl. The one that—" Emily's voice cracks, and she clears her throat.

"Fiona?"

"How did you – how do you know her name?"

"It's all over the news, Emily," Katie offers mildly.

"Right," Emily whispers, and then repeats herself. "Right."

Katie's unsure what type of admission this is, but Emily seems incredibly timid and so Katie treads lightly.

"So, you knew her?"

"Sort of. Not really though, no."

There's a generous pause where Emily says nothing, neither of them moving an inch, and Katie's breathing quickens in anticipation because Emily's not been this stilled or quiet in weeks.

Emily then says, somehow quieter than before, "Don't say anything to Naomi, okay?"

And Katie's actual head seems to contract, cogs seizing up and wheels screeching, as she tries to process the information that Emily's given her – and everything she's not given her – all of which Katie suddenly wishes she didn't know.


End file.
